


addicted to a certain kind of sadness

by ryozumi



Category: AFTER LIFE 소원을 담는 만화경 | AFTER LIFE: The Sacred Kaleidoscope (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Lycoris Jewel Event Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryozumi/pseuds/ryozumi
Summary: Youssef is considerate—sometimes too much so for his own good, but Nine recognizes the excuse for what it is (perhaps, if Nine were any less used to dealing with people trying to get closer to him, Youssef might have even gotten away with it) and aside from the initial exasperation at Youssef’s attempt to hide, Nine doesn’t actually mind too much.
Relationships: Nine/Youssef (AFTER LIFE: The Sacred Kaleidoscope)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	addicted to a certain kind of sadness

It takes more time to reaccustom himself to the sensation of his fingers moving exactly the way he wants them to than it does to recall how to actually play.

Of the few things Nine hoped for from a new life (or semblance thereof) in the Otherworld, not even the ability to play again had been one of them. Regaining what he’d lost in life by giving up on everything else feels so unreal, so unfair—bordering on just plain _wrong_ the more he learns about what so many of the other reapers have lost under far more tragic circumstances, and how noble some of their intentions were. On the other hand, not much else mattered to Nine, perhaps the most damning aspect of it all. 

He simply (perhaps selfishly) wants to play that song with his teacher. To fulfill the promise he failed so long ago.

Nine stretches his fingers lightly. In the moments before he begins, he allows his fingers to glide silently over the keys. The knowledge that he can play if he wants to, _whenever_ he wants to, warms him thoroughly from his head to his toes and inside out. How ironic to be freer now in death than he’d been for half of his life.

Before he can hit a single key, a familiar shiver runs down his spine, causing him to snatch his hands away from the piano as if it’d caught fire. A quick glance around the room reveals a piece of fabric peeking in from the doorway, only visible thanks to the reflection in the mirrors making up an entire wall.

Several moments of heavy silence pass before the unwelcome observer steps into the room’s light, illuminating a smile not nearly as ashamed as it ought to be.

“Done for the night, Nine?”

Nine holds back a sigh, but doesn’t bother masking his exasperation. “I didn’t think you’d come to listen again, Youssef.”

“I’m sorry for intruding; I thought some company might be nice,” the older man admits with a more appropriately abashed smile and a scratch to the back of his neck.

“I made an exception last time, but I have no interest in playing for an audience tonight.”

The rebuff leaves Nine’s mouth (a little harsher than he’d perhaps intended) and Youssef’s smile fades into something softer yet sincere, startling Nine with the almost instant change in demeanor. “I see...I apologize.”

“...No, it’s fine.” This time, Nine does let out a sigh. Youssef is considerate—sometimes too much so for his own good, but Nine recognizes the excuse for what it is (perhaps, if Nine were any less used to dealing with people trying to get closer to him, Youssef might have even gotten away with it) and aside from the initial exasperation at Youssef’s attempt to hide, Nine doesn’t actually mind too much. 

“I’ll take my leave, then, Nine.”

“Wait.” Nine averts his eyes from Youssef’s curious gaze to the mirrors across the room, tracking his own reflection as he stands, feeling much less inconvenienced than he wants to admit. “...If company is what you came here for, I don’t mind indulging you.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t intend to interrupt.”

“Mm.” A small noise is all he offers as he closes the lid on the keys. His heart beats calmly in his chest. There’s no reason to doubt anymore that he’ll be able to come back to it again once he leaves.

“I appreciate it, Nine.” Youssef’s smile grows visibly as Nine closes the distance between them, but unlike his tone, there’s no trace of teasing in it. He seems...pleased.

Even less enthusiastic to explore why that fills him with an equal amount of satisfaction, Nine ignores Youssef’s comment and strides out of the room, the other man following several steps behind him wordlessly.

Another shiver makes its way down his spine, this one more enjoyable than the last. Nine crosses his hands behind his back and takes shorter, more deliberate steps. Youssef slows as well, moonlight lighting the way as the two of them stroll leisurely down the halls together.

In the end, this might not matter much to him either, but he’d told Youssef the truth: he doesn’t mind a little bit of indulgence now and then.

It’s brief, and so light he might have imagined it, but there’s a touch of warmth against his hand. Nine glances to his side at Youssef, but the man simply stares forward, a comfortable, easy smile holding up the corners of his lips.

Well. Nine has trouble getting himself to mind that too much either.

Youssef waits a few more days before his next attempt at listening in on Nine’s practice.

Nine hears the unmistakable sound of footsteps stopping just shy of the doorway and calls him in (really, did he even try to hide this time?), taking care this time to sound less reprimanding, but the effect falls on Youssef’s ears all the same and he’s quick to continue on his way without even requesting Nine’s company again (ever the gentleman), almost as though he’d anticipated the rejection.

Nine finds it increasingly difficult to mind too much. The first time Youssef joined him in the auditorium he’d gone as far as feigning ignorance just to make Nine smile, and while Youssef couldn’t possibly have known how deeply the gesture would affect him, it makes it impossible to begrudge Youssef or his transparent intentions.

That said, his transparency doesn’t detract from his persistency in the slightest. Over the course of several weeks, through idle late night conversations and touches so delicate they’re like a breath of air, Youssef sneaks his way past the practice room door to Nine’s side.

Nine _wants_ to mind it enough to keep him away at arm’s length, but it’s like some force of karmic retribution how easily he forgets all about the years he spent until now deliberately not caring _just_ enough to keep everyone away—and how easily this one man slips past it all by way of virtue and patience alone.

But the sensation of a body he knows—one he might, if pressed, go so far as to say _trusts_ —at his side is _so_ achingly familiar that it becomes just as much Youssef working his way in as it is Nine making the room for him before he’s even there to try.

  
At some point, the two of them spend more time together in the practice room than they do hidden away in Youssef’s room. They lounge around long after most of the other reapers have gone to sleep, Youssef either reading through a new book from his seemingly endless cache of them or penning a new work with his favorite quill while Nine leans against his free shoulder, often peering over it out of casual interest.

Nine asks to try writing with his quill once. The scratching of the stiff point against paper is a stark contrast to the fluid stroke of a brush, too harsh for his preference but nice nonetheless. In response to Nine’s comment, Youssef admits to its roughness but argues that it’s an instrument requiring its own distinct degree of delicacy to handle.

Youssef’s rather skilled at that, Nine thinks.

(It’s a total coincidence how their hands brush against each other’s when they trade it between them and definitely has nothing to do with why Nine asks to try using it again. Nothing at all.)

His desire to listen to Nine’s playing is obvious, but Youssef doesn’t explicitly ask him to again. Nine, while imagining himself content to continue on that way, somehow grows less and less averse to the idea of playing for others until one day, he forgets to close the lid of the piano when Youssef arrives and takes his usual seat beside Nine.

Nine shifts only an inch, intending to allow Youssef a little bit of extra room, but it’s enough for the item he’d been cradling on his lap to slide off and to the floor.

Their eyes land on it at almost the same time. Faster than Nine can stretch out his hand, much less think to warn him first, Youssef’s fingers close around it and bring it up to eye level.

“This is…?”

Nine stares at him with furrowed brows, jaw slack with bewilderment as Youssef holds the jewel up to the light and turns it over, admiring the way it shines through from various angles without any kind of...extreme reaction.

He grips the hem of his shirt with tight fists, throat thickening with something unidentifiable. “...The Lycoris Jewel.”

“The one from the incident with Ghilley and the vengeful spirit?” His eyebrows raise curiously, expression still showing no indication of being affected by the jewel’s power. “You held onto it?”

“The jewel was—the vengeful spirit—she...” Nine trails off, unable to craft an excuse for claiming it, unable to think about much at all except his strange lack of reaction. “Yes.”

“I see,” comes his soft reply, and he offers no further comment.

Nine tentatively glances back up at Youssef, thoughts still disoriented. To Nine’s knowledge, most of the other reapers weren’t told about the effects of the stone beyond possession, but if the rumors are true, Youssef has quite the knack for finding out things he probably shouldn’t know. “When you picked it up, did you notice anything?”

“Hm?” Youssef lowers the jewel back to eye level, but Nine’s unsure whether he’s avoiding his gaze intentionally. He inhales deeply and releases as he turns it over once more, then holds it out in a gesture clearly meant to indicate Nine should take it back. “It’s surprisingly light. Very pretty. I think...it suits you.”

“That’s not—” he cuts himself off with a bite to his lip, hesitating. “Not what I was asking.”

Youssef’s free hand folds over one of Nine’s fists. The warmth of his hand relaxes his grip almost involuntarily, allowing Youssef to open Nine’s palm and fit the stone in it securely.

Nine draws his hands together, clasping them around the warmth lingering in the jewel from Youssef’s hands, and raises his head to find Youssef‘s eyes finally on him. 

“I know,” Youssef says, with a weary smile that causes something indescribable to tighten deep in Nine’s chest. “The manager told me about the jewel.”

His admission hangs in the air between them for a moment.

“Even when we feel our emotions with crystal clarity, they become so vague when we try to put them into words. But it’s strange; while I held the stone, all of the longing stored in it resonated so beautifully I don’t think I have words in any language adequate enough to describe it.”

Nine swallows past the thickness stuck in his throat, now unable to hold Youssef’s gaze. Instead, he fixes his eyes to the jewel in his lap, feeling its unique energy seep into his hands. Youssef’s now rest limply on the wood, mere inches away. “The vengeful spirit—Kalia—she hoped it would help me endure while I try to grant my wish. Sometimes it does, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes, even acknowledging your longing is too painful,” Youssef finishes. He doesn’t confirm whether Youssef’s right; he doesn’t need to.

“If you felt it, does that mean there’s something...someone you’re longing for?”

Youssef’s fingers curl up, not quite tight enough to make a fist but enough to notice. The pressure of Youssef’s gaze finally leaves him. “That’s right.” A brief pause, then, “Is it the same for you?”

“Yes.”

“Is it someone you left behind?”

“No. I didn’t leave anything behind,” he murmurs without thinking too much about how he’s willingly offering information about himself. “But...there is someone I want to see again. Someone I didn’t have nearly enough time with.”

“You’ll see them again, Nine.”

Maybe it’s the confidence with which Youssef reassures him, or maybe it’s the near-desperation with which Nine longs to believe him. Either way, Nine doesn’t care to examine exactly what it is that has him falling sideways, nor why it is that Youssef’s arms are already open and waiting for him.

He doesn’t care to think too much about it, but he’s hard pressed to mind it, either.

When Youssef tugs him down into bed later that night, all he does (damnably) is pull Nine up to his chest and hold him there. His lips brush against the top of Nine’s head, gentle but firm—no longer the ghost of a tentative touch.

As Nine threads a leg between Youssef’s and leverages himself closer, he thinks to himself that rather than not mind it, he might actually like it.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact i started a fic with the concept of "youssef grows closer to nine by persistently trying to listen in on him playing piano" before the lycoris jewel event started, and then i read nine's SR card story and it was like the universe had shined a light down on me specifically
> 
> shoutout to [ken](https://twitter.com/glitchgoats) without whom i probably would not have finished this lol
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/chikageyuki)


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